Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (reading comprehension books TXT) 📗

glowstick, no longer needed in the ambient light. He points at the bright patch of white that enlarges as we approach.

Squinting into the glare, I see the dark silhouette of a large man.

"Took you long enough." Samson chuckles and holds up my folded jumpsuit.

"How'd he get here before us?"

Before Plato can answer, Samson replies, "He took you the long way."

"We had a few things to discuss." Plato glances back at me.

"Did he come around?" Samson sounds hopeful.

No more thinking about it. They were both true to their word. "I think I might," I admit.

Plato mounts a few rocky steps to join Samson, and I follow. But soon I become acutely aware of something, and my stomach drops.

This is not the same way I came in.

"Where are we?" I frown and step away from them, out toward the sunlight. "Where have you taken me?"

Plato watches me, a confused look on his face. "Milton, what's wrong?"

"This is wrong! Answer me," I demand. "Where are we?"

He is a liar.

Why ask him anything? He won't tell me the truth.

"We're at the mouth of the cave."

I step out just long enough to check the sun's location in the sky. Not overhead. Not leaning toward the horizon where it should be if this is late afternoon.

I step farther out onto the ledge, shielded from sunlight by an outcropping of rock above the upper lip of the cave. I can't see the sun. It's on its way down to dusk, on the other side of the mountains.

Where I should be. Where I would have been, if Plato had taken me the right way.

"You took me through to the other side."

"You were headed in this direction when Daiyna found you. It only seemed logical—"

"You didn't ask me."

Plato looks at Samson, who shrugs.

They cannot be trusted. They are up to something.

I take another step away. "You didn't tell me."

Samson holds my suit out to me. "Don't you want this?"

Do not go near him. He will take you back into the caves.

"Milton, be careful. You're standing close to the edge."

"Stay back!"

I glance behind me. My heels are centimeters from a fifty-meter drop. The dust stirs between my feet. But there is no wind.

The jagged rocks below look so inviting.

"You just want to use me. My gift." My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else. "I'd be a big help to you."

So they say.

I can leave all of this behind. There will be no more faces to haunt me, no more awful loneliness, no more freaks of nature. I can be completely free of it all. I can fly away forever.

I've always wanted to fly…

Is someone shouting my name? Calling to me?

The world revolves slowly as I turn to face the open sky, my arms outstretched like wings, my toes curled over the ledge, sand between my toes and swirling all around me now, enveloping my legs and spiraling upward, rushing against me.

Jump.

Fly.

Voices shout, but they don't matter. They don't come from the rocks below, the sharp edges that offer me all the freedom I could ever want. Why are they shouting? Who are they?

"Milton!"

Hands grope, tugging at my sleeves. But they're too late.

A sharp pain pierces my chest, and with it comes a blow like someone kicking me full-force. I'm thrown backward. What sounds like a rifle reports in the distance, cracking from far below. I fall for one long moment, wondering why I'm moving so slowly, until my head meets the unyielding surface of the ledge.

The sunlight turns black.

5 LutherTen Months after All-Clear

A bullet from the darkness shatters the rock face above me. I cringe as a shower of gravel rains down. Shielded from the full moon's light by a large boulder, I crouch against it, crossbow gripped in both hands. A rifle reports in the distance, echoing across the desolation.

We counted three of them. A small hunting party, armed with high-powered firearms, bold in their attack. One of Daiyna's sisters gifted with far-sight saw them approach in their jeep, and it was agreed that tonight we would make our stand. We wouldn't hide from the hostiles this time.

We've hidden too long.

Milton can't help us. Yet in a way, he already has. His injury weeks ago at the hands of these daemons galvanized our determination to strike back. His superhuman speed would have indeed been a great asset to us right now, but he must recover from his wound.

I pray he does soon. I pray the evil spirit within him will depart, and that Milton will emerge from his coma healed both in body and mind. I pray for a miracle.

Risking a quick glance over the boulder, I check the location of my comrades. Down the grade, crouched low as I am, Samson lurks armed with a spear and knife. He looks like a warrior of old, every muscle in his frame tensed and ready for action. Ten meters to his left is Plato, biting his lip and darting his eyes furtively, clutching his own crossbow. He never studied battles as Samson did all those years in the bunker. It was a curiosity for him among other topics of interest on the database. None of us could ever have imagined that the tactics he filed away would ever prove useful.

We didn't expect to find a garden paradise when we opened the bunker door after All-Clear. We knew there would be plenty of work involved in making a life for ourselves on this new earth. But we never imagined having to fight for our lives.

Flashes of memory return of the daemons' first attack.

They came six days after Plato sealed our bunker door shut with explosive charges. Tensions were running hot among the men. Holmes had succeeded in dividing them, and despite my best efforts at maintaining unity, he and those who sided with him would have nothing of it. Perhaps by agreeing to seal the bunker, I'd earned their distrust. Regardless, we were split down the middle, and as the saying goes, no community divided against itself